I've Got You Babe
by wrestlefan4
Summary: Matticho...Matt Hardy/Chris Jericho. Matt promised through sickness and health, right now, with Chris throwing up in his lap, it's definitely sickness. Not sure about rating yet, shouldn't be too bad.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Yep I'm still working on my others stuff, cross my heart. Matticho, pairing perfected by Dark Kaneanite and Wrestlefan4, or so we like to think :) This I a little bit in the future, but you'll get that from some of the things I mention in it. The only warning I have is that there's mention of vomiting for those of you that might have a sensitive stomach, lol. The next chapter is a little worse with it XD. You can always skim over those parts if you start to feel icky. Lol!**

_**A wee bit of heaven drifted down from above, a handful of happiness, a heartful of love. A mystery of life, so sacred and so sweet, the giver of joy--so deep and complete. Precious and priceless, so lovable too, the world's sweetest miracle--baby, it's you. - Helen Steiner Rice **_

In Cameron, North Carolina, the autumn breeze was picking up and blowing leaves through the street, rattling and clattering along their paths like dry bones clamoring against stone. The yard was still dim, shrouded in a low lurking mist, lit only by the fading solar lights that acted as a row of beacons along the stretch of driveway. Chris was out on the porch, the morning had yet to fully blossom, a babe still clinging to the womb. He hung his leg over the porch railing and leaned back against the bricks feeling his short, sleep tangled hair, catch on the rough surface. He yawned a little, still not used to this hour of the morning.

Since he and Matt had both left wrestling neither had seen 4am for quite some time. Matt had been first to go, fed up with storylines, favoritism, and general backstage politics. Chris was going to hang on a while longer but after a year on the road with so many miles between he and his husband, connected only by cell phones and Twitter, and brief visits that always ended too soon, Chris left too. Now the two of them spent time in Cameron and Winnipeg, Chris sold his home in Orlando. The two of them had enough saved up to just drift around for a while and do what they pleased until they figured out the next part of their life. Matt was thinking of writing a book, and the idea for a reality show had been pitched a few times, but it was kind of nice living quietly without a camera in your face so often. None of these things were very pressing issues, just as long as they were together, everything else was secondary.

Another yawn, and when he opened his eyes again and rubbed away the sleepy tears, the sun was peeking over the horizon as though it too was yawning to life. It would have been nicer to still be in bed, curled next to Matt's warmth and listening to his soft snoring, but he wasn't in bed. It was going on the third week of this bullshit, stumbling half-asleep to the bathroom because his stomach was lurching up into his throat. It was so bad sometimes he was sure Matt was going to wake up disturbed by the hacking and gagging sounds emitting from the bathroom, but he never did. Matt Hardy: The Man Who Slept Through The Apocalypse. Chris grinned crookedly.

He sipped at the coffee he'd brought out with him. It was just black, Matt always had to throw shit in his, but Chris always had it plain. Lately he was thinking more and more about drowning it with milk though because it wasn't agreeing with his rebelling stomach, but morning just wasn't right without coffee. Another cautious sip, and the familiar queasy sensation was back, rolling gently like sea waves lulling in and out from the shore. The mental image only made it worse, as Chris thought of waves at the beach, and it caused some sort of motion sickness.

He was quickly leaning over the rail, his stomach muscles aching as they tried to purge the nothingness that was left in his stomach. The only thing that came up was a little bit of coffee and it sat in his mouth mating with the strong tang of bile and only made the gagging worse. There was a good ten minutes of dry heaving before it finally calmed down, and feeling more tired than before, Chris wobbled back into the house and flopped down on the couch, forgetting about his coffee mug that was on the railing.

Matt woke up a little after ten, the bright light filtering in through the bent slat of the blinds—bent because Chris could never seem to figure them out, he'd always pull it the wrong way and one side would hitch up while the other dropped a foot or two below it. He opened his eyes and watched the shafts of light for a few seconds, as they beamed down onto the wood floor, and silvery speckles of dust floated lazily. Matt got up, swung his feet over the side of the bed, and realized that Chris was up early again. He'd left the bathroom light on and the toilet seat was up. He knew Chris had been sick lately, and even though Matt kept bugging him to go to the doctor, he refused. Chris just waved him off joking it was only food poisoning from Matt's atrocious cooking, and that it would pass, but three weeks was a long time to fight it out with a bad meal.

Matt made his way down stairs, Lucas right on his heels, his tags jingling softly and his paws padding the same rhythm as Matt's bare feet. Chris was curled up on the couch, his mouth was slightly ajar and he was snoring into the pillow. Matt glanced at the tv, his brows furrowing when he saw the logo TLC in the corner of the big screen, and a woman screaming out muted labor pains, Matt's eyes widened with shock when a doctor held up a baby, complete with gore. With a chuckle Matt knelt by the couch, figuring Chris had rolled onto the remote and screwed up the channels. He fished underneath his sleeping lover drawing a few mumbles and a snort from Chris as he wiggled around and turned his face towards the back of the couch. Matt found the remote lodged between the cushions and switched off the tv, which some how made Chris wake up.

"I was watchin' that." Chris mumbled propping himself up on his elbows and blinking long golden lashes.

"What was it?" Matt asked with a smirk, sitting the remote on the coffee table and reaching down to give Lucas a scratch behind the ears.

"VH1 Classic, a special thingy about Iron Maiden." Chris sat up a little more, wishing he hadn't when he started to feel sick again.

"No, it was on some baby show. I came in to see some doctor holding up a kid with all this blood over his hands, this kids mis-shaped head all splattered with it, some nasty white shit all over the baby, the chord hanging off like a dying worm." Matt shuddered, and wiggled his finger around in imitation of a worm convulsing with its last breathes.

"Matt--" Chris started, his face draining white.

"God, I'm so glad neither one of us can have a baby. That's the nastiest shit I've ever seen. Then the woman has to shove out all that after-birth crap—looks like she gave birth to her liver." Matt stopped, Chris startled him by suddenly bolting from the couch and into the bathroom, even Lucas hopped back with a little yelp.

The image of a gory birth was just too much to handle and Chris slip-slided into the bathroom, falling to his knees painfully hard. Matt was just moments behind him and was soon there to check on him, the guttural coughing sounds making him feel uncomfortable himself. Chris let go of the porcelain bowl, his hands were clammy with cold sweat, and he leaned back against the bathtub closing his eyes and scrubbing his lips on the back of his hand. Matt sat down next to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, surprised to feel them trembling.

"Chris, I didn't mean to make you sick." Matt apologized, stroking Chris' short hair. Even though he wasn't wrestling anymore, he still went out for the blond coloring, because Matt liked it.

"It's not your fault." Chris groaned, his throat aching, raw from the bite of acid.

"Well, this is it. You're going to a doctor."

"No." Chris whined, letting his head drop over to Matt's shoulder. He mustered the biggest puppy-eyed pout he could. "I hate going to doctors. This can't last much longer, it's probably just a long winded flu bug."

"I don't care, Chris, you look like a wreck and there's no sense in dragging this out longer that it needs to be." Matt helped Chris up to his feet, and the blond pulled some mouth wash from the medicine cabinet and swished it without a word. Right next to the mouthwash was a half-empty bottle of Pepto-Bismal, which hadn't been any help either, just a nasty tasting swallow of goo that did nothing. Chris spit into the sink, and when he looked up he could see Matt in the kitchen with his phone pressed to his ear, winding a stray curl around his finger. No doubt, he was setting up an appointment.

The appointment was later that day, _lucky me_, Chris thought as he drove to the office, grumbling the whole way. Doctors offices were always the worst, it didn't matter if you were the only person there, you still had to wait for at least three hours in an uncomfortable chair with nothing to do but look through year old magazines and watch the round nurses chatter at the desk.

Then, once you got in, the first thing they had to do was get you up on the scales to remind you of how much weight you gained because you were now over middle aged and your metabolism was slowly failing…and because you liked to get into the junk food a little too much. Then it was the blood pressure cuff that tells you to watch the stress and lay off the salt, followed by the thermometer roughly invading your ear and making you squirm like a dog with a butt itch, then you get to sit for three more hours and read and re-read the non-funny posters the doctors have on the wall, or the chart of the digestive system, and become far to familiar with the workings of the bowels.

Finaly, the doctor comes sweeping in with his white coat billowing behind him, his glasses sliding down on his whisky-red nose, smelling like baby vomit and latex. Then the assault on you body begins all over again, maybe a tongue depressor shoved down your gullet or a cold metal circle feeling up your chest as he tells you to breathe, again, breathe.

Chris went through all of that, altogether taking around four hours, just for an upset stomach. The doctor was on that last part just now, slipping his hand up Chris' t-shirt to make him shiver as the head of the stethoscope molested his back with cold fingers.

"Again, deep breath." The doctor instructed, sniffing his nose and scratching at his wild grey eyebrows. "Y'know." He mused, moving the thing over to Chris' shoulder. "Y'ain't from the South are you, or else y'just sound different in person than on the phone."

"Eh? No, I'm Canadian." Chris took a deep breath. "The guy on the yacker was my meddling husband. If it was up to me I wouldn't be here, this isn't exactly my favorite pass time."

At the word 'husband' the good doctor jerked his hand away, and hurried over to his desk where he scribbled a prescription.

"I-I'd say it's just a virus that's been goin' 'round. Viruses take longer to shake off than bacterial infections. There's nothing y'can really do to help t'along but keep hydrated, this should help with the nausea and vomiting." The doctor held out the scrawled note, when Chris took it his fingertips brushed the doctors nicotine-yellow knuckles, chipped nails, liver spotted back hand, and doctor homophobe snatched his hand away as though he'd just touched something hot. The look of disgust was not well hidden on his age weathered face.

"I see." Chris smirked. "So um, is it okay if I still suck off my guy?" Chris asked, making his voice soft and feminine. "I mean, he gets kinda crabby if I don't give him some head now and then."

The doctor backed away a step, almost tripping over his wheeled stool, and his mouth flapped up and down like a fish. Chris didn't wait for an answer to his mocking question, just snorted and breezed out the door, making a mental note to find another doctor should Matt force him to go again, which was definitely _not_ going to happen again.

**Reviewage is yayness. :) *gives vintage Jericho glitter to lovely readers***

**If you like Matticho and want to read more (you know you so do) go to Dark Kaneanite's profile, or search the story "A Melding of Bodies and A Mending of the Heart" and give it a look. It's written by both of us, still in progress. *waves fingers in hypnotic motions* Gooooo reeeaaaad moooore Maaattttiiicchhoooo…*squinty eyes* Did it work? **


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: Thank you to all the readers/reviewers. Extra Kudos to those of you who have gotten an inkling about what's going on. :) **_

"It's not helping, _at all._" Chris groaned as he shuffled into the kitchen, eyes drooping. He flopped into one of the chairs, shoulders hunched, pinching his nose shut against the smell of bacon and eggs Matt was cooking for breakfast. Just the smell of it had his stomach rolling and his mouth filling with water that warned him he was going to throw up again at any moment. Closing his eyes, he swallowed it away, and started to count backwards from one-hundred, a tip he'd heard once. It worked for the time being, and Chris leaned on his elbows, one hand scratching at his messy hair, intentionally breathing softly through his mouth to ward off the overwhelming smell of frying chicken embryos and pig flesh. _Ugh, not a good thought, not a good thought at all, so sick…so—one hundred, ninety nine, ninety eight, ninety seven, ninety six…_

After getting to sixty four it had subsided again. Trying not to think about what Matt was cooking, Chris let his thoughts roam else where, his eyes watching Matt as he scrambled the eggs which made his ass jiggle a little with the motion. It looked really good in the thin boxers, the ratty hem of an old t-shirt—one of Chris' actually—gathered up and sitting atop the perfect curve. The sun filtered in through the window over the stove, catching the lighter parts of Matt's hair and making them glitter, showing in detail each little frizz and fly away. It would have been very picturesque, very perfect, had Chris not been feeling so sick.

Whatever that hick doctor had given him had done nothing at all, and he was down to his last pills today. There was a refill on it, but Chris didn't see the point. If anything, he was sicker now than before. For the first four weeks he had normally felt better as the day wore on, practically perfect by evening, ready and starving for a big meal…which would just get regurgitated sometime after midnight. Now it seemed like he was constantly fighting to keep food down, sometimes he couldn't even swallow a few bites without choking on it. Just last night he and Matt were watching a movie on t.v., Matt was at one end of the couch and Chris was stretched out with his head in his husbands lap, Matt was lazily playing with his hair which always made Chris start to nod off.

Christian Bale was on t.v. tucked away in a black cape and cowl, Heath Ledger was there too with his macabre face paint and mouth scars, he hung precariously from a building, cackling as he dangled over the street below. It was one of their favorite movies, which was why the DVD was so scratched and worn they couldn't watch it anymore, and hadn't bought another one yet. It was okay catching it on t.v., but there were all the commercial interruptions. Example? The Hardee's commercial that soon graced the t.v., the loud voiceover (why do commercials often come in louder than the actual program?) startling Chris from the edge of sleep he was teetering on.

In front of his eyes was a huge mother fucker of a burger, the camera zooming in for a close up as the brown meat glistened with grease, like worm mucus, bile-sour pickles poking out from under the mass of seared animal flesh, a couple thick sliced onions—oh God the stench of onions—and some sort of blood like sauce oozing from beneath the bun, dripping thickly over the lettuce. The wave of sickness came over him too quickly and Chris really had no chance of getting up in time, he was half up, hand almost to his mouth when Matt got a lap full of the pizza they'd ordered earlier, now it was all hot and stewy.

"Matt I'm really sor--" Chris couldn't finish his apology, not knowing what to do Matt stood up and the mess glomped down his jeans, squishing onto the floor, a piece of sausage glimmering up from the goo. It sent Chris bee-lining for the bathroom, not quite making it and splattering the toilet, the floor, and his own feet. _Christ, what a fun experience. _Chris thought now as he hung his head over the table, willing the images of last night to _please_ go the fuck away.

"Chris, you really should eat." Matt said, scraping eggs from the skillet and bringing his plate over to the table. He started to sit next to Chris, but when his face paled at the smell wafting off the food, and just the sight of it, Matt relocated to the other end of the table. Chris covered his mouth and hiccupped, knowing this early in the morning there was nothing left for him to throw up anyway, even though his stomach muscles kept cramping like they knew otherwise.

"Nuh-uh…not now." Chris said, gagging a little and settling on pinching his nose shut.

Matt chewed slowly, and watched Chris with concern building in his dark eyes. Chris looked so tired, his eyes racoonish with dark circles, droopy and dull looking, his face was colorless and sheened with a glimmer of sweat, that look reminded Matt of when Jeff was nine years old and had pneumonia. He looked almost waxy, like Matt could take his face and mold it in his hands like a warm candle.

"Looks like you're heading back to the doctor."

"No." It came almost before Matt could finish the sentence.

"This ain't a discussion Chrissy, babe." Matt said, picking up a piece of bacon and chomping on it. Chris hid his face in his hands, watching Matt eat making him feel horrible, just the sound of the bacon crunching was too much. Chris sighed through his hands, and retorted back, muffled.

"Matthew."

"Christopher."

"Matthew Moore…"

"Christopher Keith Irvine-Hardy."

A groan, how could Chris really argue with Matt once he got something in his head anyway? It was like trying to move Big Show with your pinky, no way in hell. If you tried, you'd just end up with a broken finger.

"Calling doctor." Chris grumbled as he got to his feet and grabbed the phone from the charger, he sulked away with it, shuffling his feet, poking out his lip, putting on all the dramatics he could. He received a chuckle from Matt, then a cough as he nearly choked on his breakfast.

This time Chris had to wait a couple of days to get in, each day he silently prayed to anything or anyone that would hear, that he'd miraculously get better before the appointment rolled around. It didn't happen. The morning of the appointment Chris was up around five, having his usual conversation with the damned john. _Gag-hack-cough-spit._

The car ride to this doctor was a little longer because they were headed to Fayetteville. In Cameron, a town with a population of less than 200, the choice of doctors wasn't really astounding. They had to pull over twice on the way there so Chris could throw up at the side of the road. Matt had forced breakfast on him, which was seeming to be a bad idea. The rest of the way Chris closed his eyes tight and laid his head against the window, trying to tune out the motion of the car that was less than helpful.

The waiting room was pretty crowded and smelled like disinfectant. It was fairly quiet, the hum of the television an afterthought, punctuated by the rustle of magazine pages and a cough here and there, or the whine of a child who was bored. One of the nurses at the front desk, a pretty little blond thing, turned red faced and asked quietly if she could have an autograph, for her son she said, though the intensifying burn in her cheeks suggested otherwise. Chris grabbed a pen that had the name of some drug on it and scribbled his name, messier than usual because he really didn't care at the moment, and shoved it to Matt. The younger man didn't hide his scowl as he wrote his signature, crossing the t's with an angry swipe.

"Matt, don't worry about it I'm fine." Chris said quietly, with a roll of his eyes. He knew without words that Matt was being defensive over him, the fact that he was sick and some bimbo was still bothering them for their names, had Matt shifting into a pissy mood. He tugged at Matt's shoulder and found a chair, soon Matt dropped into the one next to him, mumbling something under his breath.

"Can't they see you don't feel well?" Matt said, pressing his shapely lips into a tight line, his eyes still hard with annoyance. He looped his arm through Chris' as Chris flipped through an old copy of Rolling Stone.

"My hand isn't broken Matty." Chris said, stopping to skim over an article about Steven Tyler. "Just let it go, hell, you haven't wrestled for about six years, me for five, I'm kind of surprised people still remember us." Chris joked, hoping to get a smile from Matt. He watched the corner of said lips twitch a bit. "Well, of course I'll be remembered, I'm Chris Jericho, but you? Psh. The only reason people recognize you is because you're with me assclown."

That got Matt to smile fully, even though his eyes blinked back sternly at Chris, reminding him not to call him "assclown". It never mattered how many times Matt protested the title, Chris still bestowed it upon him, almost on a daily basis.

Chris was soon absorbed in the magazine, or else pretending to be. Matt glanced at the clock, feeling like it was moving painfully slow. He watched the t.v. for a little while, it was turned to Little House On The Prairie. Laura Ingles-Wilder was pregnant and seeing Doc Baker with his tiny glasses, graying curls, and rumpled face. Soon Matt was bored with it, he'd seen it before because he'd watched it as a kid, much to the glee of Jeff who made it a source of cackled taunts and for a while even called Matt "Nellie" for some reason.

Matt started to watch the people around the room. There was a young woman with a kid in a stroller, crying when it spit its binky out onto the floor. She could barely reach down to get it, because she was huge with pregnancy again. After much wiggling and a little grunting she retrieved the spat soother and brushed it clean on her pants before popping it back between the kids lips and silencing it. Well, it was silent for a few seconds, then the pacifier went flying again.

A little further away was an elderly couple. The man was frail looking, his head leaned back on his chair, mouth hung open in sleep. His bony hands clutched at the arms of the chair, his brown slack cuffs coming nearly up to his knees and showcasing his white socks, one which slipped down to the top of his beat up shoes. His wife, a sweet pudgy looking lady with hair like a snow puff, was watching the expectant mother and her baby. A sad little glimmer tinted her eyes as though she was remembering her own days of mothering some long time ago.

For a good while Matt just watched the various people waiting, going in and out of the offices. His smile widened when he saw a boy clutching his mothers hand, in his other, he held onto a Miz action figure. When he turned around and headed to the waiting area Matt saw that he had a Miz t-shirt as well. Mike was really big these days, he was practically a similar version of the Chris Jericho character. Even so, he hadn't called anyone a trash bag ho yet, that thought made Matt laugh a little. Matt laughed harder when the mom sat down, wearily, next to her son and pulled out a mini Jeff Hardy from her purse, and the kid started to beat on the Jeff figure with the Miz figure.

Chris finished the article and dropped the magazine unceremoniously onto the table beside his chair where a dozen others were stacked up and fanned out. He leaned his elbow on the arm of his chair and propped his chin in his hand, sighing with boredom. His eyes panned around the room, falling onto the mother who was digging around in a bag with Eeyore on it. She pulled out a bottle and tried to quell the crying baby with that, one hand stroking her round belly. Chris smiled, a slow happiness that stretched over his face, a warm blossom growing in his chest. There was just something about the mother and her baby that was so sweet, so beautiful.

"Chris, you okay babe?" Chris blinked, breaking his teary (why are my eyes watering?) stare from the mother.

"Huh?"

"You're rubbing your stomach."

Chris looked down, just now realizing that he was rubbing soft circles on his stomach. Matt slid his hand under Chris' and touched gently.

"No, it actually feels better right now." Chris said, his eyes on Matt's hand as it moved.

"Let's hope this doctor can figure out why you've been sick and give you something to make it better for good." Matt mumbled leaning back in his chair with a little yawn, he rolled his neck this way and that, hearing it creak.

_Tick, tick, tick._ Time passed on and Chris was so bored. The mother and her babies had already been in and out, the old people were gone, replaced by two more sets, and the kid with the Miz doll was taken to the bathroom to get an ass paddling because he broke the arm off his Jeff figure and pitched a huge tantrum over it. Matt was asleep in the chair, his head flopped over on his shoulder. Chris reached over for a piece of Matt's hair and tickled his nose with it, making his dark brows bunch up in annoyance, a couple of lines denting his forehead, but he didn't move or try to smack Chris' hand away. Chris grinned and held back some giggles as he waited a moment, then tickled Matt's nose again. Matt gave a sudden loud "snerk" sound and jerked awake. Chris grabbed a magazine and pretended to be absorbed in it, biting the insides of his cheeks to keep from bursting out laughing.

"It might help Chris…" Matt snatched the magazine from his husband and turned it over, uprighting it. "If you read it that way."

"Assclown, I can read rightside up, upside down, sideways, backwards, diagonally, I am that damn talented!"

"I see. I didn't know." Matt smirked at Chris, the blond was biting his lips, and Matt knew he was on the verge of cracking up. Matt wiggled his nose, then scratched at it. "Y'know there must be flies in here…something was tickling at my nose."

"Must be." Chris echoed. He turned around and he and Matt held gazes for a moment, then Chris took one of Matt's chocolate curls and brushed the tip of his nose with it.

"Big Canadian horseflies." Matt said, and playfully whacked Chris with a magazine.

Soon the two of them were fighting like children, whumping each other with Good HouseKeeping, Time Magazine, and Sports Illustrated. They finally stopped when they realized a short, stubby little nurse with woven braids was watching them, a clip board in her hands, clearing her throat loudly again and again to get their attention.

"Yes Ma'am?" Matt asked, dropping his weapon in his lap. Chris took advantage and smacked Matt in the face with an issue that had Jon and Kate Plus Eight on the cover. Chris bit his knuckle, giggling around it anyway when Matt blinked back in shock.

"Mr. Chris Irvine-Hardy, the doctor will see you now."

"By now, you mean in two more hours." Chris bitched as the nurse led him down a hallway. She'd put a damper on his good mood, reminding him that he was still at the doctors office, and that he hated being there. She completely ignored his snippy question and shooed him over to the scales. Chris stepped up reluctantly, at first trying to persuade her that he didn't need to be weighed again after only a week since his last doctor visit. Apparently, that didn't matter. He watched with a slight frown as her brown fingers moved those little slidey-things that balance out the scale and magically tell you your weight.

"Two-thirty-two." She mumbled and scribbled onto the clip board.

"I was just at the doctor about a week ago," Chris reminded her again. "And he said two-thirty. I didn't gain that much weight in a week." Chris huffed, annoyed. "If anything I've lost some because I can't keep a god damned thing down."

The nurse rolled her eyes and tucked her pen behind her ear.

"Maybe it's bloating." She offered as a seemingly sarcastic explanation.

"Bloating?" Chris snorted.

"Yeah, like PMS." She growled, matching his deepening glare with her own, as she showed him into the correct room.

She did his blood pressure roughly, which he complained about, and she said it was too high, which he also complained about and blamed her for, for making his visit all the more unpleasant. She seemed to be just as annoyed with him as he was with her, and she wasn't easy with the ear thermometer either.

"I'm going to sue you for puncturing my ear drum with that damn thermometer!" Chris whined as she straightened his file and left it on the desk for the doctor. "No, I'm suing this whole office…and I'm going to sue the shit-hole school that gave you your RN, or LRN, or…whatever the hell it is!" She cut his rant off by leaving him alone in the room, right around the words "shit-hole school".

Chris sulked and slumped down in his chair, poking out his lip in a pout, even though no one was there to pity him. After a while he was bored of listening to himself continue to gripe quietly, so he looked through some Ranger Rick kids magazines and a book of Where's Waldo, only getting aggravated when he couldn't find the sweater wearing nerd. He started to rub at his temples, a headache coming on, the woosh of his pulsing blood pressure sounding in his ears. He had to take his mind off of how much he hated being here, he looked around the room for anything.

On the doctors desk were two models. Chris got up to check them out, and when he got closer he saw that they were the male and female reproductive system. Pretty soon Chris had rolled out the doctors stool and was sitting on it, taking apart the penis, and making a pretend dialogue between one of the ovaries and the prostate.

He was soon engrossed in what he was doing for entertainment and didn't hear the doctor come in until he was tapped on the shoulder. Chris got up quickly, knocking over the model vagina with a whack of his elbow.

"Heh, sorry. I just like to bang those things." Chris joked, trying to sit it up again. "Bang into them I mean. Hard."

The doctor didn't even crack a smile, just looked over the rims of his glasses, and frowned.

"Mr. Irvine-Hardy?"

"Yeah, that's me." Chris stuck out his hand as a well intended greeting, but when the doctor went to take it he had to draw it away because he was still holding onto a part of the female reproductive system.

"Please excuse the ovary. I always keep a spare in my pocket, just incase I feel the need to ovulate." Chris chuckled, nervously shoving the organ into his pocket. The doctor just shook his head, his sour expression not even flinching. Chris' smile dropped off his face, and with a grumble he scooted onto the examining table.

"So, am I dying?" Chris dramatized after the exam was finished. He shrugged into his shirt and buttoned it, watching over the doctor's shoulder.

"Your symptoms seem to suggest a stomach ulcer, or perhaps ulcers, plural."

"Nice," Chris groaned in sarcasm, straightening his collar. "My guts are turning into swiss cheese."

"Have you vomited blood?"

"No."

"Have you had bloody or black tarry stools?"

"Um…no. But I don't get down there in the toilet and do a dissection." Chris rolled his eyes. "Just give me some medicine or something. If I start bleeding, I'll scream like a little girl. I promise."

Matt intercepted Chris as he came back down the hallway, seeing him before he was even back in the waiting room.

"So?" The dark haired man asked, Chris tugged impatiently at his elbow, ready to leave.

"I'm fine." Chris said as he and Matt walked briskly from the building. "Doc says I have a little alien living in my intestines, probably implanted by an anal probe, from that time we both got drunk and I ended up in a cornfield. It's going to burst out of my navel in about nine months." Chris finished, completely serious. He raised an eyebrow at Matt, waiting for his reaction.

"I always knew cornfields were dangerous." Matt smiled, nudging Chris in the arm. Both of them laughed. In much less than nine months, Chris knew he was going to be just fine. He ducked into the passenger side of Matt's Camaro. When he did, something felt awkward against his hip bone. Matt watched as Chris wiggled around a little and pulled something out of his pocket.

"What's that?" Matt asked, peering over at the small, round, object in Chris' hand.

"Oh..." Chris grinned up at Matt. "It's just my spare ovary. In case I need to ovulate." Chris laughed, a good sound, better than the sound of heaving, and tossed the plastic organ into the back seat. Some poor model lady back in that doctors office just got a partial hysterectomy, performed by Y2Surgeon, would you like glitter with that?

**Sorry if some of the 'sick' scenes in here made people feel icky. I warned you at the beginning, lol. Who knew, Chris keeps and extra ovary in his pocket.**


	3. Chapter 3

_**Thanks to you guys for your comments and feed back. I think most of you know where this is headed. To clear something up, no, Matt and Chris don't know. But I think I cleared that up in this chapter, at least I tried. Special thanks to Dark Kaneanite for helping me through a place where I was stuck. *hugs***_

_It's a bitch getting older. _Chris thought as he looked over his body in the full length mirror in the bathroom. After a few months, he'd finally gotten to a bearable state with the sickness, which the doctor had attributed to ulcers. It was to the point where only certain foods made him sick, which that doctor in Fayetteville said was normal. Sometimes they'd act up in the morning, just to start the day off on a good note. The only problem was that just as one thing became manageable, new grievances showed themselves.

His lower back had started to ache, followed by his hips. It was the worst when he was on his feet for a long time. Well, after years of abusing your body in the ring, you're bound to have some aching joints, hello arthritis. Check another box on the Old Man List. Chris hated it, he really did, he was only forty-three, that wasn't ancient at all. Hell, a lot of the guys he knew from WWE were still in the ring and they were older than him.

The worst thing that was starting to happen however, was the weight gain. Sure he didn't really work out much anymore, no more need to bust your ass for Vince, and maybe eating healthy wasn't on Chris' top list of priorities either, but he'd always had a high metabolism. _Do you think you're still twenty, assclown?_ Chris' inner voice bit off with sarcasm. He blinked at the mirror, realizing he was scowling heavily.

He turned to the side, noting his pudgier ass, growing love handles, his belly starting to curve and paunch out, like he'd drank a few too many beers and they'd settled there. God, even his chest was getting a little puffy, or maybe that was just his imagination. _I hope my mind is exaggerating this. _ Chris thought as he stepped away from the mirror angrily, and climbed into the shower.

Alone in the small space, breathing the scent of body wash, Chris' mind started to dwell again over the changes in his body. He tried to find explanations for them, blaming them mostly on his age, although somehow he knew that wasn't right. Something in the back of his head spoke up once in a while and got his heart racing with fear, fear that something was really wrong. Something _bad. The 'C' word, the big bad 'C' word…Can—NO, don't even think it. _His heart banged against his chest, his head starting to pound as that word whispered in his subconscious. He knew the deafening 'whoosh' in his ears wasn't from the water spraying from the showerhead, the doctor had told him to watch his blood pressure. His sudden panic most likely had it sky rocketing, yeah, feeling dizzy. _Need to get under control. Control…cance--_

Chris literally disrupted his thoughts by belting out a few lines of some song, he didn't even think about what song, just the first thing that popped into his head. After singing it through a couple times, rather badly because he was still tense from that word creeping up on him, he finally started to calm a little.

By the time he was done with his shower and wrapping a fuzzy towel around his waist he felt better, but he knew he was going to have to talk to Matt about it soon. He'd been trying to keep all these things under wraps, not wanting Matt to worry, and really, he didn't want to have to admit that his age was showing, or that maybe, just maybe…_something really bad. _

It could be, it really could be. After Chris had got the report of having ulcers, Matt had nosed around on the internet to find out about them. Chris had peeked over his shoulder reading along with him but he stopped and made a joke about Matt being a nerd, when Chris had got frightened over something he saw, horrible words looking up at him from the screen. _Peptic ulcers can be precursors to stomach cancer. Further testing and biopsy may be used to determine the risk._

"Quit thinking about it!" Chris snapped at himself as he stomped across the bedroom, annoyed, to his dresser. He pulled on some boxers and tossed the towel over his shoulder. It landed on the side of the bed, hung there a few moments like a man clinging for life at the side of a cliff, then fell into a rumpled wad of terrycloth onto the floor. Chris pulled out a t-shirt and tugged it on, hating the way it had seemed to shrink. He pulled on it a little more, but it just clung.

_I don't want to get old and fat, at least not fat. Mental note, start going to the gym, and throw out all the good food that's in the house. _

He pulled out his favorite jeans and slipped them on. They'd been getting tighter every day it seemed like. He knew before he even tried that they weren't going to zip up this time, but he hoped he was wrong. Hell, he couldn't even get the zipper to budge. Grumbling he tugged on it harder, and tried to suck in his gut, victory was minimal, it went up about half way.

"God damn it!" Chris barked, and stalked over to the bed. He was now determined to get the pants on, too stubborn to just admit defeat. He lay back on the bed, sucking in his belly, holding his breath, pulling at the zipper until with a groan and a creak of the seems, it zipped up. Pulling a little harder he got the button latched. For a few moments he just lay there, too afraid to move, or even let his breath out. Finally the pent up breath puffed out of him, just because he couldn't hold it any longer without passing out, and it was followed quickly with a sharp grunt of disapproval. The waist band cinched into his waist, biting painfully enough to spring tears in his eyes, and the button was pushing into his bladder, the urge to pee over whelming and making his belly ache.

He fumbled with the button, trying to unloose it, but the denim was stretched so tight he was having trouble getting it. Maybe if he undid the zipper first…but he couldn't get that either.

"Ugh." Chris coughed, sucking his stomach in again to relieve the pressure before he lost control and peed all over himself. _So this is what I'm reduced to, great._ Chris thought as he tried again to get the jeans off. "Matt!" He hollered when he was exasperated at his attempts. That stupid button was gnawing like a tooth, the pressure unbelievable. "Matt!"

He waited a few moments longer, hoping Matt might hear him from downstairs, but that obviously wasn't working. His cell phone was over on the nightstand charging, that would help. Chris flung his arm over that way, the tips of his fingers brushing against the chord that was sending juice to the phone. He pulled on the chord dragging the phone towards him and he got it. One step closer to help!

"Chris?" Matt answered his phone, the name on his lips spoken with concern. Why would Chris call his phone when they were both home? His first thought was that he was throwing up again, maybe even bleeding. "Chris are you okay!" Matt knelt down and slapped his thigh, an indication for Lucas to come to him. He'd been outside with the little dog, letting him run around and tear up the remains of the dying flowers. Matt was heading for the house and Lucas quick on his heels.

"Um, come…upstairs…take my pants off." Chris finished, sounding like he was in pain, or maybe he couldn't breathe.

_Take his pants off, what?_ Matt was a little confused, but more than anything, worried now. He didn't ask any further questions just stuffed the phone into his pocket and darted in through the French doors and up the stairs. He rounded the corner to the bedroom to find Chris sprawled out on the bed, his hands at his waist band, messing with the button.

"Hurry up, hurry up!" Chris groaned. "I have to pee so bad!"

It was almost funny, as Matt went around the bed, realizing what was going on. He bit the insides of his cheeks to keep from laughing, though a snort or two hiccupped out as he pulled at the button. Chris' fingers gripped the sheets balling them up in his fingers, trying desperately not to empty his bladder at this inopportune moment. Suddenly, the pressure and ache was relieved, and Chris realized Matt had freed him from the confinement of his stupidity. He practically ran to the bathroom, letting out a pleased sigh as he emptied his bladder.

When Chris came back out of the bathroom, the fly of his jeans yawning open, Matt was sitting cross legged on the bed watching him, trying to keep on a serious face, but finding it difficult. Chris glared at him, and without a word, stomped over to his closet and got out a different pair of jeans.

"It's not funny." Chris whined.

"I-I'm sorry. I…know it isn't." Matt hung his head and pressed his palm to his mouth, swallowing back some giggles. He felt bad, he really did, but at the same time it was rather comical…Chris calling him on the phone to come up and de-pants him because he couldn't breathe.

"Stop laughing Matthew, I hear you giggling." Chris tossed the second pair of pants aside too. There was no way those were fitting either. Soon after a third followed, then a forth. Matt was silent, it wasn't funny anymore. Chris was hanging his head in the closet sniffling, his shoulders shaking softly.

"Chris, I'm sorry baby." Matt wrapped his arms around Chris' waist and Chris pulled them away. The blond started to sob, unable to stop it, like some cloud had just burst and rained down inside of him, flooding him with emotions he couldn't handle. _What's wrong with me? Something bad…_ Chris buried his face into Matt's shoulder and his tears soaked a big splotch on Matt's t-shirt. Matt rubbed slow circles on Chris' back. "What's the matter sweetie?" Matt asked, his voice soft against Chris' ear. Chris sniffled, trying to swallow back his hiccupped sobs.

"Nuh-none of my jeans fit. God look, I'm getting fat. You won't want to look at me, or touch me…" Chris' thoughts were running together, incoherent even to his own mind, like a barreling freight train running off the tracks. "Something's wrong with me…I-I think something…something--" Chris burst into a fresh round of sobs and Matt held him tight, confused by the outburst, and concerned by his husbands behavior.

"Nothing's wrong with you. Look, we'll go buy new jeans." Matt held Chris back at arms length and watched him, his own expression faltering into a frown as Chris wiped at his eyes but the tears kept coming, rolling slowly down his cheeks and neck.

"That's not the point." Chris wailed, picking up one of the pairs of discarded jeans and trying them on again, just to make sure. He tugged on the zipper, failing again, and littering a string of insults and curses that came out sounding jumbled and choked with snot and distress.

"Chris, don't do that." Matt brushed Chris' hands away and slid the jeans down his hips and to his feet. Chris leaned on Matt's shoulder to step out of the pants, still leaking from his eyes the whole time. Matt opened the other side of the closet and scooted some hangers, screeching them noisily against the rod, sounding like the squawk of a surprised bird. "Here, put these on." Matt handed Chris a pair of sweat pants, and glared at them as though they had personally offended him in some way. He looked like he was ready to call them hypocrites at any moment. After a bit of a heated scowl at the clothing, Chris reluctantly stepped into them, using Matt's shoulder for balance again.

"Even my shirt is too fucking tight." Chris complained, still palming away tears. It was a little tight over his chest, and it was stretching over his belly a bit, but Matt really didn't mind.

"Chris, it doesn't matter. It's not a big deal." Matt wrapped his arms around Chris' waist and pulled him close, he brushed his lips against Chris', slowly running his tongue over them, the salty tang of tears leaving their flavor there. "I love you Chris. I am in love with you, just as much now as when we first got together. I don't care how much you change, or how much weight you gain, we're bound to change as we get older, hair falls out, metabolisms slow down, all that good stuff. The point is, it doesn't matter Chris. I married you because I love you and nothing can change that." Matt smirked, running his hands up Chris' torso. "And you are always going to be my Sexy Beast. You're gorgeous."

"Really?" Chris said quietly, barely a whisper. His deep blue eyes focused on Matt's warm ones, as though he still didn't really believe it.

"Yes you are." Matt punctuated with another kiss. "How a simple country boy like me ended up with a prize like you, I still don't know." Matt smiled, giving Chris a little pinch on his rear.

Chris smiled crookedly, his lips pulling up at one corner.

"Matt, you're so perfect." Chris latched onto Matt, squishing him in a vice like hug. Chris placed a kiss to Matt's lips, then pulled back, wiping more tears from his eyes.

"Chris, why are you crying again man?" Matt asked, slapping Chris' arm playfully.

"I don't really know." Chris shrugged. He followed Matt out of the room, turning in the door way to cast one more glance back at the jeans they'd left lying on the floor. _Matt's right…it's nothing to worry over. It's just metabolism, just age. _

_**I think most of us have been there with the pants, lmao. Maybe not to that degree, but still, rofl. You just want them to fit damn it!! Poor Chrissy, least he has Matty there. That makes it all better. :)**_


	4. Chapter 4

_**This came out really long, but believe me, it's worth it. I want to thank everyone who has read and reviewed, I appreciate it sooo much. *hugs* I can't wait for you guys to read this chapter. *squeal!* There's a small thing where Chris is upset and there's some mention about problems in the bedroom…it's not real clear in this chapter as to why or anything, but I'll clear up everything in the next chapter. I promise it'll make sense. Other than that, nothing to really say. *Waits on pins and needles for reviews***_

Chris picked up the phone, looked at the tiny numbers, and put it down again. The phone book was splayed out on the coffee table, the yellow pages staring up at him with names of doctors. He'd called a few specialists, but couldn't get in right away, so didn't make any appointment. Maybe he was over reacting about this. He played with the tissue thin pages, his fingers shaky with nerves. _Peptic ulcers may be precursors to caaaanceeeer. _ Mentally, he swatted at the thought, like it was a pesky fly. With a sigh he leaned back onto the couch and watched the image on the t.v. The men in the ring were silent, moving without word or sound, because Chris had muted it to make his phone calls.

Just recently WWE had put out a DVD set showcasing the Ayatollah of Rockin' Rollah himself. He'd bought a copy a few months back in Wal-Mart, Matt joked about it and suggested he buy The Hardy Boyz instead. But anyway, Chris hadn't taken it out of the cellophane package until today. He'd been up and down a lot the night before, worrying over things, not able to feel comfortable, so he'd came down stairs to the couch and tried to sleep there. That hadn't worked out either.

Matt was up and had left some what early to go to the store—he was picking up some things for guests—just what Chris wanted, people over on his birthday, to remind him he was another year older. After his husband was out the door, Chris decided to put one of the DVD's on. The coffee table and floor had subsequently become littered with wadded up tissues, because the water works started, and for a good hour Chris just sat there crying at every match and promo. Everything about it just made him dissolve into tears.

Chris sat up straighter when Lucas started to yap shrilly, his paws clamoring and clattering at the door, signaling Matt pulling in the driveway. Chris quickly palmed the tears from his face and grabbed all the crumpled tissues and got rid of them quickly—stuffing them down in between the couch cushions—before Matt came in and saw him bawling like a baby.

"Chris, can you get some of the stuff?" Matt asked as he came in, arms loaded with bags, Lucas weaving around his feet, narrowly avoiding being tripped over or stomped on.

"Sure." Chris stood up, his back giving him a protesting ache. He rubbed at it a little as Matt dropped his bags onto the table and started to take things out. The dull pain just traded places and roamed from his back down to his hips. With an annoyed sigh, Chris went out to get some more bags. After they both made a couple more trips in and out, everything was unloaded, cluttering the table and counter space. "So are we opening up our own grocery or what?" Chris asked peering into some of the bags. The one he looked in was full of packages of hamburger meat. _Innocent little animals…chopchopchop…let's put you on the chopping block, let's cut your head off. Chris look into my eyes, my big brown cow eyes, why do hurt me? Look into my eyes, the innocence, the innocence sizzling on the grill, rolling around in your mouth with condiments. I was some little calf's mother! _Chris pushed the bag away and struggled to keep his eyes from becoming fountains. _Why the hell am I so emotional, over dumb shit? _

"…and it was just by chance that all three brands are taping in Raleigh, so a bunch of the guys are coming. I thought it would cheer you up to see…" Matt trailed off, turning to Chris with a package of bratwursts in his hands. He was standing there quiet, staring down at the hamburger, his lips twitching, blue eyes seeming to glimmer through pools. "Chris baby, you okay?"

"Fine." Chris said quietly. He turned to Matt and was going to try his best to convince his husband that everything really was okay by pressing a kiss to his lips, but Matt stopped him, one hand cupping his chin and tilting his head to the side.

"Chris, your face is puffy." Matt squinted his eyes, concerned, and his fingers started to prod around Chris' neck and under his chin as though he was groping for swollen lymph glands.

"It's called fat." Chris stated flatly, and pulled Matt's hands away. Matt stopped Chris' actions again, this time turning his hands over and inspecting them.

"No, you're hands are swollen too." Matt tugged on Chris' ring, normally it would catch on the knuckle a little before sliding off easily. It wouldn't budge. "You need to go back to the doctor." Matt pulled Chris close to him, wrapping his arms around his waist.

"I am." Chris whined.

Matt brushed a soft kiss against Chris' lips. Even though he was worried for Chris, he tried to keep it from showing, he knew Chris was even more scared than he was, and he wanted to be a source of comfort, not the catalyst for mutual freak outs.

"Don't be afraid. What ever is going on, it's probably not as big a deal as we—as you're…making it out to be. I'm sure it's something minor. Whatever it is, I'm here, and we're together, and that's all that matters. We can get through anything together Chrissy."

Chris nodded, his eyes wetting with water, his lips pulling up at one side in that half smile that Matt loved so much.

"Thank you." Chris whispered, returning the kiss.

"Hell, don't thank me." Matt kidded, pulling away from Chris and going through the bags again. "I married you. I'm stuck now."

"Assclown." Chris huffed, pretending to be offended.

"Christopher, quit beating around the bush and go call the doctor."

"I'll beat around your bush Matthew!" Chris called as he disappeared into the living room. He heard Matt snort laughter from the other room. So, Chris was back where he had started, sitting on the couch with the phone in his hands.

A few minutes later he was arguing with someone, trying to get them to move his appointment so it wasn't five years before he could get in. Soon a headache was blossoming behind his eyes, and he was so upset he didn't even know what he was yelling into the phone anymore. Matt appeared quickly, tapping Chris on the shoulder and asking for the phone, which Chris turned over to him and sank down onto the couch, massaging his temples. Matt took the phone back into the kitchen and bantered back and forth until he got to speak to a doctor who apologized for any problems and gave Chris a referral to another doctor in Charlotte.

"All done." Matt said coming back into the living room and sitting beside Chris. "You're not supposed to get upset. It elevates your blood pressure." Matt reminded Chris, whose headache was throbbing worse. "Maybe we should check. You know I bought that blood pressure cuff and--"

"I'm fine Matt. Go get stuff ready. I'll just lay down for a couple minutes and I'll be fine."

"Don't tell me what to do." Matt squeezed Chris' thigh. "Now lay down."

"Well if I can't tell you what to do, what makes you think you can tell me?" Chris shot back, glancing over at Matt and raising an eyebrow.

"That's just how it works Jericho. Lay down…and gimme your feet." Matt instructed as Chris reclined back, putting a couple throw pillows behind his head.

"Give you my feet?" Chris smirked. "Well hold on, I have to untie them first." He joked, putting his feet in Matt's lap. Soon Matt had the shoes and socks off, tossed them to the side, Chris' feet were puffy too. _God, I really hope Chris is okay. _Matt thought, swallowing hard. _Please, please, if it's something horrible I don't know if I'll be able to hold myself together. _Matt quickly pushed his anxieties to the back of his mind, it would probably stay there for a while, but pretty soon the stink of such a horrible thought would drift back to his conscious mind, like the stench from a carton of take out that was left in the depths of the refrigerator for too long. _Everything will be fine. We've gotten through a lot of turmoil together, whatever else life throws at us, we'll conquer that too. _

Matt kneaded his fingers into Chris' feet, massaging.

"Hey, Chris?" Matt asked, looking over at him. Chris' cobalt eyes watching him from slits, his eyes starting to droop closed.

"Huh?"

"Are you sure you want to have everyone over? I told you we don't have to. I mean, I just thought…but I can cancel. Maybe I should call them up and cancel, they'd understand, maybe it's not a good idea since you're not feeling well."

"Don't be ridiculous." Chris mumbled sleepily. "I'm not dying. Just a headache. Get out of here." Chris raised his hand and waved it back in forth in a pathetic, drowsy, shooing motion.

"I love you so much." Matt laughed, moving Chris' feet so he could get up. He stopped at the other end of the couch to drop a kiss on Chris' forehead before leaving him alone to rest.

Chris woke up hours later, having slept longer than he'd wanted to. He sat up and groaned at the ache in his back, cursing at it silently. The green numbers on the radio told him people would be flooding the house soon. He went upstairs and got ready while Matt went in and out of the house setting things up.

Soon the back yard was dotted with people, many of whom Chris hadn't seen for years, save on t.v. Lawn chairs were sprinkled here and there, a couple of table were set up with food, the majority of it stereotypical store bought cook-out food, already made because Matt couldn't make potato salad or deviled eggs to save his life. A few of the guys had brought things with them to contribute, John "Morrison" Hennigan brought a vegetable tray which was typical, it screamed 'health food' while all the other food just sat there drowned in 'who gives a shit it's a cook out'.

Matt manned the grill, and Mark and Shawn stood close by watching, Mark nursing a beer and Shawn doing something with comical antics, making both of them laugh. At least it was a good time to have a cook out, in North Carolina it was still pretty mild in early November a sweat shirt or jacket might be needed, but it was still enjoyable.

Nothing really went very well, Matt burned the first round hamburgers to a crispy sizzle so people started wars with them, throwing them back and forth at each other and rolling around on the ground laughing with ashy smudges all over their clothes. Paul Wight tripped over Lucas and fell into the French doors breaking one of them down and running glass through his hand, his night ended in the emergency room with blood pouring down is arm. It finally fell apart completely when Chris disappeared inside for some twenty minutes. Matt handed over grill duty to Mark and found Chris upstairs, sitting on the edge of the bed. He was silent, staring down at his hands.

"Chris, you not feeling well baby?"

"It…it happened." Chris said quietly, barely able for Matt to hear.

Matt furrowed his dark brows, not knowing what Chris was meaning. He sat down on the edge of the bed and draped his arm over Chris' shoulders.

"What happened?"

"All that stuff I used to say in the ring…old used up wrestlers..." Chris' voice faltered, he sniffled. _Why am I so damn emotional? _"Everyone out there still looks good. Mark, Shawn, they're both pushing fifty now and they look great. I became what I used to bitch about all the time. I feel horrible out there. I don't want anyone looking at me I look so…" Chris' sentence ended on a soft whimper.

"Chris look, I-I should have just canceled this." Matt ran a hand through his curly hair, his stomach was knotting itself, he hated seeing Chris this way, and it scared him. He didn't want Chris to be sick, he didn't want him crying all the time, feeling so bad, it broke his heart. "Baby don't worry about how you look right now. There are more important things."

"Not just that, it's everything Matt. Everything hurts, I'm always tired, sick, and…and then there's…" Chris burst into a full gale of tears, sobbing pathetically.

"Chrissy I said we weren't going to talk about that."

"I-I d-don't care Matt, I don't ca-care! It matters to me—a lot—I want to-to make love to you. Do you know how…empty…how…incompetent…it-it makes me feel!" Chris' words were barely understandable as he wailed, coughing and choking on his sobs. Matt wrapped him up in his arms, trying to calm him.

"Talk to the doctor about it when you go babe, if it bothers you that much, it's a common problem. Please calm down Chris, please."

"No, I can't. I can't…God…my head…" Chris shoved his palms into his eyes. The pain thundered around behind them. He laid back on the pillows, and felt Matt get back on the bed, he was sitting next to him taking one of Chris' hands away from his face and holding it between his own, rubbing it gently.

"Chris, everythings going to be fine. The last thing we need to worry about is our sex life. There's always Viagra." Matt tried joking, hoping maybe that would break through Chris' melt down. He remembered what the doctor said about Chris' blood pressure, and just like the ulcers, Matt had immediately searched the net for info. Chris accused him being a worry wart, it was true. Right now Matt was practically fighting off a panic attack, Chris' sudden headache could be from him getting so upset, his blood pressure spiking, and a headache was not a good sign. If he didn't calm down shortly, Matt was going to drag him kicking and screaming to the car and haul ass to the hospital.

"Um, hey. Is everything okay?" A familiar voice said from the door way. Matt looked up to see Jay standing there, looking awkward at what he'd walked in on. Matt shook his head in a silent negative.

"Hey Reso, can you get people to start leaving? Chris isn't feeling well." Matt added, turning back to Chris and brushing away some stray tears with his finger tips. When Matt turned back, Jay had disappeared.

Matt sat up all night, fussing over Chris, who mumbled sleepily at Matt to stop babying him. Matt ignored that, and every time Chris woke up, Matt played with his hair, running his fingers through it, until he drifted back to sleep.

The next day found the two of them making a trip to Charlotte. Chris slept most of the way there. The wait was surprisingly not very long. Soon Chris was in the doctors office, nervous as always, picking off a list of symptoms to the doctor who spoke to him in a thick middle eastern accent. A few basic things were taken care of, the dreaded scales, where the numbers were once again higher than before, ditto with the blood pressure cuff. Finally he was laying on the exam table, the doctor checking him over. His hands roamed over his body, finally getting to his stomach and prodding around to feel it. Chris was shaking, trying not to, but he hated the doctor and all the worst case scenarios kept rushing through his head. He watched intently as the expression on the doctors face changed from pleasant, to serious.

"Hm." The doctor mumbled and went to his desk, grabbing a pen to scribble something down.

"Wha-what does 'hm' mean?" Chris asked, sitting up and trying to swallow the lump forming in his throat.

"There seems to be a…mass in the abdominal--"

"A-a…mass?" Chris stuttered weakly, feeling faint at the weight of that one word, trying to wrap his mind around it, it couldn't be.

"I'm going to have an MRI. It should take only a short time. This will show us what we're looking at and we can go from there."

Chris only nodded, his mouth dry, his head feeling painful like a drill was eating at it. The doctor swooped out of the room leaving Chris there with his words just sitting on his chest like a weight. Soon a nurse was in, giving Chris some gown to put on and explaining how the MRI worked, which Chris didn't even care about.

The MRI took an hour, a freaking hour in that damn tunnel like machine, taking pictures of this thing inside of him, this thing that could be killing him. The whole time Chris had to focus, think he was somewhere else, or he was sure he was going to suffocate in there from claustrophobia. He thought of Matt, and tried to push away all of his fears about what the results were going to show. After it was done, Chris got back into his clothes and went out to the waiting room where Matt was chewing his nails down to nubs. He explained to Matt what was going on, despite how scared he was, he didn't have another melt down like the night before. He and Matt just sat waiting for the results, hands linked and going numb from the tightness of the hold, neither one of them caring.

Time crawled so slowly, Matt thought he was going to lose his mind. Chris had been talking most of the time, rambling on about anything and everything just out of nervousness, but Matt had tuned most of it out not on purpose but just because his mind was launching itself into a flurry of catastrophic thought. _Everythings going to be okay, everything will be fine. _Occasionally he blinked back at Chris, tuning in to what he was babbling about, but he was pretty sure Chris didn't know what he was talking about either, he was just trying to distract himself from focusing on the possibilities.

"Mr. Christopher Irvine-Hardy?"

Both Matt and Chris jumped up together, like twins conjoined and the hands. Both of their faces drained colorless at the look on the doctor's face. It could only be described as shock. For a moment, the physician moved his mouth up and down, fumbling for words.

"Oh my God…" Chris felt his knees go weak, and he quickly sat down again, not trusting them.

"Chris, Chris it's okay, I promise baby I promise…I'm here." Matt babbled, tears over flowing from his soft, warm eyes.

"Sir, I um—I'm going to need to do another test, to…to confirm." The doctor was stuttering almost as bad as Matt.

"To confirm what?" Matt asked, helping Chris to his feet. The doctor's twitching, buggy, eyes looked back and forth between the two men, and he avoided answering them.

"This way please."

He took off at a brisk place, clearly frazzled, the file in his hand shaking, which was not at all reassuring to Chris and Matt. They ended up in a small room, Chris again on an examining table, as the doctor smeared a clear gel onto Chris' stomach. Chris swallowed hard, trembling all over, feeling like he was going to throw up at any minute just from the fear. Matt was still entwined in his hand, neither of them could feel their fingers anymore.

The doctor picked up an instrument attached to a computer. In their state of near panic, neither Chris or Matt realized what the machine was. The doctor turned to them, his hand tremoring so violently he could barely hold on to the thing. He pressed it against Chris' pudgy stomach and moved it around, it seemed like everything in the room stopped—everything in the world halted to a dead silence—not even a breath was heard.

A grainy picture appeared on the screen, before Chris or Matt could see it, the doctor moved in front of the screen, uttering a cry at whatever he saw, and the silence was broken by a steady sound—woosh-woosh, woosh-woosh, woosh-woosh.

"What the fuck is that!" Chris yelled, grabbing Matt's hand so hard the younger man thought his fingers might be broken. The doctor was still silent, seemingly entranced at whatever was on the screen. Woosh-woosh, woosh-woosh.

"Doctor?" Matt whispered, almost afraid to speak, wondering if he could even find his voice. He cleared his throat, and tried again louder. "Do-doctor…sir…what is it?"

"It's…it's a fetus."

"Wha-wha-what did you say?" Chris asked, his voice coming out in a shriek. He was sure he hadn't heard right what the doctor had said, he'd spoken so low, so quietly, he had to have mistaken what was said. Chris looked over at Matt, he was as still as a corpse, his mouth hung open ready for a fly to buzz in, his eyes wide and blinking, nothing seeming to comprehend. _Did he hear what I thought I heard? _Chris thought frantically. "What is it? What's wrong with me!" Chris demanded, barking his words, feeling like he was going to go mad at any moment and just throw the doctor across the room so he could look at that damn monitor. Chris didn't have to, the small, dark, man turned back to the two of them, and moved out of the way of the screen. The physicians shock only mirrored theirs.

"Sir, you're—you're—pregnant."


	5. Chapter 5

**I finally got it updated! I hope you guys have stuck with this, there's not many chapters left to it. I've just had a huge block on practically all my stories, I apologize. Matticho thanks you for reading/reviewing. :)**

Chris rolled out of bed and watched Matt for a few moments as he yawned, and rubbed at his belly. Matt snored, coughed, and rolled over into Chris pillow sighing happily. Chris smiled in the darkness and got up, shuffled out of the room, and downstairs to the kitchen. He flipped on the light and went over to the refrigerator where he stopped to admire the sonogram pictures that were displayed there proudly with magnets.

One showed the faint outline of a baby at around three months, the one next to it a little clearer at four months, another at five—and showing _two _outlines instead of one.

Chris grinned, remembering how they had both reacted when that sonogram had been taken and they found out that a man carrying one baby was obviously not outrageous enough for Chris Irvine. There were twins in there.

Chris remembered glancing over at Matt who had drained pale white, his excitement and surprise making it hard for him to breathe. The dark haired man had just stared at that little, funny looking doctor, as he moved the wand around on Chris' chubby belly. At least Chris could finally give Matt a break with his whining about how fat he was because after seeing both of those babies it gave him a legitimate reason to be putting on the extra weight, not that he liked it any more than he had before.

Chris traced the outline of the two babies with his finger and then glanced over at the other two that completed the display. They were from just yesterday, estimated at close to seven months along. One photo showed one of the babies, clearly a boy. The other final grainy picture displayed a girl.

"When you get old enough…" Chris said to the picture of the little girl. "I'm going to buy Matty a gun and he's going to sit out on the front porch cleaning it to ward off the boys." Chris ducked into the refrigerator and pulled out a piece of cake and gallon of milk, poured some in a glass, then sat down at the table singing happily to himself about Chris and his wonderful cake. He stabbed his fork into it and took a bite, smiling like an idiot when the sweetness hit his tongue. He swirled the prongs in the icing and licked it off. He was half way through his second piece when Matt came in, his dark curls flying around his face, his eyes squinting over at Chris.

"You okay babe?" Matt asked yawning and scratching his ass as he walked over to the table.

"Yep! Just having a love affair with this beautiful piece of yummyness!"

"Hm…how'd that get in the house?" Matt smirked, cocking his head and watching Chris play with the icing on his fork with his tongue. He looked comically happy eating the junk food, as though it was laced with a narcotic. Chris shifted his eyes and then looked at Matt innocently.

"Eh? I dunno. Just shut up and let me have sex with my food." Chris joked, taking another bite and smiling contentedly.

"It doesn't look like the health food I bought." Matt teased. Chris looked up from his snack and licked the icing off of his lips.

"Doesn't taste like it either." He smirked. "That cereal shit you got was disgusting. Cardboard Crunchies, made from organic boxes, grown by good ol' American box farmers! And try NEW Cardboard Crunchies with dried blueberries that look and taste suspiciously like rat turds!" Chris and Matt both laughed, they both knew it was true. Chris had whined so much about eating the stuff that Matt had sat down and ate it with him one morning, just to show him that it wasn't _that _bad. The next morning when Chris got up, Matt was making pancakes, and the health cereal was never mentioned again.

"What are you looking at?" Matt asked Chris, who was pausing between bites of cake to look down at the table. Chris held up one of the sonogram photos.

"It's the one where we first saw that we had twins."

"Your face was priceless!" Matt laughed, remembering the mixture of emotions swimming over Chris' features. His beautiful eyes had gone wide, his eyebrows hiked up near his hairline, and his mouth moved around not sure whether to frown or burst into an ear splitting grin.

"You looked like you were going to crap yourself." Chris pointed his fork at Matt. "You grabbed the edge of the table like you couldn't stand up by yourself."

"I did not." Matt defended, scooting out of his chair and going over to the refrigerator.

"Did too assclown!"

"The best part of the whole thing was when you burst into tears saying that you were some sort of freak, and I said—being the amazing husband that I am—'You're not a freak Chrissy, you're special' to which you ruin the sweet moment by saying--"

Chris joined in with Matt, repeating word for word what he'd said in his hormonal hysteria.

"Special is for the kids on the short bus, not the guy who has two kids inside and no vagina to pop 'em out of!"

They both dissolved into laughter, Matt still with his head inside the refrigerator.

"Hey," Matt finally said, coughing back the rest of his chuckles. "Where's the rest of the cake?" Matt rummaged things around in the fridge.

"Um…what rest of the cake?" Chris looked down at what was left of his piece and then looked back at Matt chewing his lip sheepishly.

"That's okay. I don't need it anyway." Matt shrugged and came back to the table poking at his own belly.

"Oh please, you have no right to complain about that. Look at me, rather don't. My belly, my love handles, my hips, my ass…why does your ass have to get fat? I'm not carrying babies in my asscheeks."

Chris complained, and Matt hung his head in his hands giggling.

"It could be the cake cravings." Matt offered through his laughter.

"No, cake is good for you. It makes you happy."

"Well, you won't be very happy to know that I threw out your secret stash of Twinkies."

Chris frowned and pouted at Matt from over the rim of his glass of milk.

"You, Matthew Moore Irvine-Hardy, are a very, very evil man." Chris gulped down the rest of his milk to chase the last bite of cake.

"I'm teasin." Matt got up and went to Chris, leaned down and pressed a kiss to his lips, and rested his chin on his shoulder and gazed at the two beautiful babies in the sonogram. "Baby if you want Twinkies you can have Twinkies. It is my sole purpose in life to make you happy." Matt hugged Chris around the neck.

"You're so kind, it's like you love me or something."

"In fact you can have anything you want Chrissy." Matt went on, combing his fingers through Chris' hair.

"Hm, well, how 'bout a Ferrari?"

"I think a mini-van would be more fitting." Matt yawned, and pressed one more kiss to the top of Chris' head. "Come on preggy, it's three in the morning we need to get our asses back to bed."

"Chris Jericho does not drive a mini-van!" The Canadian called after Matt as they both made their way back to their bed.

Chris woke up to a strong smell assaulting his nose. He rolled out of bed and looked at the clock, groaning when he saw it was close to noon. He sniffed, and tried to place the overwhelming smell. It was paint. It was coming from what they'd used as their guest room. Chris leaned in the doorway smiling at Matt and Jeff who were speckled in pastel paint. Jeff was completely immersed in what he was doing, he was standing on a ladder painting some sort of mural on the wall while Matt used a long handled roller to paint the ceiling—white with flecks of silver glitter.

"Do you have names yet?" Jeff asked Matt, never taking his concentrated emerald gaze from the artwork he was doing.

"No, nothing in stone yet." Matt winced, a splotch of paint falling into his eye. "Ow, damn it."

"Well, you could always name the boy Jeff, I mean Jeff's a cool name." The rainbow haired uncle-to-be stepped up higher on the ladder to touch up a spot he'd missed.

"No we're gonna use Jeff for the girl. That's more fitting." Chris said, grinning when Jeff turned and saw him in the doorway.

"Hey you, out of here. You're not supposed to see yet!" Matt made shooing motions with one hand while digging his finger of the other hand into his eye.

"Stop fussing, I can see if I want." Chris said, crossing the room and taking Matt's face in his hands. "Hold still assclown…" Chris gently wiped the paint away from the corner of Matt's eye. "There." He finished with a kiss to Matts lips. "Ick, you taste like paint."

"And you haven't brushed your teeth yet." Matt dramatized a comical grimace, and Chris slapped his arm playfully.

"Done!" Jeff called. He stuck the long, thin, paint brush behind his ear and posed on the ladder like he was on a turnbuckle at a show, then hopped down. The three of them stood back and looked at the mural, admiring Jeff's artwork.

"I think they like it, someones moving in there." Chris smiled, resting his hand on his belly. "Come on Jeff, touch it!" Chris grabbed Jeff's hand, knowing Jeff always refused to touch his stomach. The younger mans eyes went wide and he hastily snatched his hand away as Chris laughed.

"No man, I'm just getting used to this whole concept of you actually havin' kids in there…I sure as hell ain't touching it. That's just creepy…"

Matt joined Chris in laughing and he pulled his glowing husband close and rubbed his belly, cooing at it, which only made Jeff grimace more. Matt brushed his thumb against Chris' face, smiling at how beautiful and soft and glowing he looked. He kissed Chris lovingly then looked back over at Jeff who was still watching closely as Matt's hand made gentle circles on Chris' tummy.

"Jeffro, quit staring at my mans ass!" Matt teased, pulling Chris as close as he could with his belly in the way.

"Sorry, I thought it was a barn." Jeff bit his lip ring and ducked out of the room when Matt threw a loaded paintbrush at him. The dark haired man turned back to Chris and ran his hands through his messy blond hair.

"Don't listen to him baby, your ass is perfect."

"Yeah, a perfect barn." Chris joked back. At this point in the pregnancy, he'd finally started to calm down, and his mood swings were less frequent and intense. Now there wasn't much that upset him, he was just generally in high spirits and had grown a fondness for cleaning the house whether it needed it or not, which Matt called 'nesting'.

"Well go get your perfect, sexy, barn dressed 'cause we have a doctors appointment today." Matt said, giving Chris' rear end a little slap when he frowned. Despite becoming very familiar with the doctor and gaining far too many visits for comfort, Chris still felt on no better terms with the medical world. He still disliked the dreaded doctor visits as much as he had before, even if it meant they got to see what they're children were up to inside.

The first few visits had been chaotic. Their original doctor was nice enough to try to keep things as normal as possible for them, but other physicians in the building had found out and crowded into the office peering at Chris in awe as though he was some sort of science experiment.

At some point their news had even got out to the public—namely in the tabloids and some websites, but thankfully no one took it very seriously, thinking it impossible. The two of them weren't ashamed of what they had together, but the thought of the press and paparazzi banging down their door and ringing their phone off the hook wasn't very appealing. As for the doctors, many of them had became more used to Chris the more he and Matt showed up in the office. Some of them still insisted on leaving Chris in the hospital to 'observe him' to which Chris would normally grow angry and remind them that he wasn't some damn rat in a cage. Their regular doctor found no reason for Chris to be observed in the hospital, he was doing pretty well, just fighting with the occasional spike up in blood pressure. But with Matt's watchful eye—sometimes _annoying _watchful eye—he was getting through without any major complications, just the usual painful back and hips, swollen feet, and a sleepless night here or there.

"Do we really have to go today?" Chris pouted.

"Yes Christopher we really have to go today. Come on, I'll help you get dressed."

Chris complained and whined as usual when it came to the doctor. Matt followed him to the bedroom to help him put his pants on, because he couldn't balance any more to do it by himself. Getting Chris dressed always ended up with both of them in tears laughing.

Chris slept on the way to Charlotte and Matt wandered off in thought. He glanced occasionally in the rearview mirror and looked at the back seats wondering how Chris' Escalade was going to look with double car seats strapped into the back and Cheerie-O's littering the floor boards. Matt's smile at just imagining their son and daughter shrieking and playing in the back seat was enough to make his ears hurt with joy. He couldn't wait for them to be here, to hold them, to know that they were healthy and that Chris got through the whole ordeal in one piece.

Matt pulled into the parking lot and parked, then walked around to the other side to wake Chris up and help him down from the vehicle. When they got inside people swiveled their heads to stare at Chris—thinking he was either a very masculine looking pregnant woman or a pregnant man, the later seeming highly unlikely but looking to be the correct assumption. Chris glared at some of them, defiantly linking his hand with Matt's.

They didn't have to wait very long, and soon they were walking through the regular routine, complete with Chris whining about his weight and the doctor reminding him that he was right on track, that the recommended weight gain for a woman expecting twins was between 37-54 pounds. At seven months Chris was right around the fifty pound mark and not really that happy about it. Matt just joked saying that they were going to have a couple of big, healthy, corn-fed babies.

"More like cake fed." Chris half smiled. Part of him regretted eating that cake last night, and the other part of him was craving it again.

The usual blood tests, urine tests, prods and pokes and feeling went on and then soon it was over and all was well. The doctor took another sonogram and they talked about scheduling a Caesarian delivery very soon, around the middle of month eight. In the meantime Chris was basically ordered to be on bed rest, just because of the uncertainty and unexplored territory of male pregnancy—especially with the twins and the concerns for preeclampsia. They left with a due date and excitedly stopped at a Baby Depot store to pick out some things for the nursery.

By the time they got home Chris was worn out and his back and hips were nagging at him horribly. Matt helped him inside and up to their room. He put an extra pillow under Chris' feet, his feet and ankles were swollen and looked painful.

"Quit fussing." Chris mumbled, laying back against the pillows.

"Are you sure you're okay Chrissy?" Matt moved so he was sitting next to Chris, and he pressed his palm to Chris' face. He looked pale, his face was slicked with a sheen of sweat, and his eyes looked tired. Matt frowned, feeling awful and almost guilty that he couldn't do anything to make Chris feel better. He sighed and played with Chris' hair which always seemed to help him sleep.

"I'm sure." Chris answered quietly. "Just my back and hips, and feels like they're moving around a lot. Just tired." Chris reached for Matt's hand and laid it on his lower belly. "Feel it?"

Matt nodded. He could easily feel the movements and he wondered how it felt to Chris to feel the both of those kids moving around in there. A smile broke out on his face.

"Hey, they're just getting in some early wrasslin' practice." Matt laughed, and pressed a kiss to Chris' curving lips. "What does it feel like?" Matt added, rubbing Chris' belly.

"Feels like a lot of pressure. It feels like a huge bubble of bad gas moving around in there." Chris moved around trying to adjust the pillows in a way that made his back bearable.

"Oh no, let's hope not." Matt joked reaching behind Chris and trying to help him adjust the pillows.

"I don't have gas Matty. You're such an assclown."

"I know." Matt stayed a few more moments and rubbed Chris' feet until he drifted off to sleep, sitting up against the pillows because he couldn't lay on his back like he normally did, and he could never seem to get comfortable curling up on his sides. Matt reluctantly left Chris by himself long enough to shower. His mind kept drifting off, imagining what their children were going to look like, what their little voices were going to sound like, whose eyes they were going to have, whose silly quirks would they pick up, whose temperament? Matt finished up his shower and slipped into bed next to Chris who was moving around and grumbling. He looked like he was trying to get comfortable but not having much luck at it.

Chris slid down and turned on one side, but that didn't help either. Half asleep he reached behind him for an extra pillow and shoved it between his legs, trying to get some relief for his hips that were aching. Matt sighed, wishing he could do something. Chris was facing away from him, still messing with the pillow between his thighs. Matt ran his hands down Chris' back and massaged at his curved spine and knotted muscles. After a few moments, Chris stilled and Matt could tell by his breathing that he drifted back to sleep.

Matt woke up suddenly, a feeling of panic and urgency making him sit straight up in bed reminiscent of the Undertaker. He immediately jerked his head to the side and went to wrap his arm around Chris but he wasn't there. Chris' pillow and the spot he'd been laying was damp, as though he'd been having a fever and sweated it out. Matt tossed the covers back and grabbed for the lamp on the nightstand nearly knocking it off before his trembling fingers found the switch and turned it on.

Chris was in the bathroom wetting a wash cloth with cold water. He'd woke up drenched in sweat, the pressure in his lower belly, hips, and between his legs feeling unbearable. He'd got up, his feet protesting with twin aches, and paced the room for a little while, hoping that walking around would make the pressure lessen up. It only made it worse, and now there was more than pressure. He was in pain, his hips were so painful he could barely walk. He heard Matt calling him. Chris draped the cold cloth over his neck and stepped away shakily from the vanity, and he inched and shuffled out of the small room as best as he could.

"Chris baby?" Matt called, the warm glow of the lamp dowsing the room in shadows. Chris came out of the bathroom, his face waxy. Matt hurried over, a million things racing through his mind and sending his adrenaline into overdrive. Chris swayed, and Matt was there to hold his waist and drape Chris' arm over his shoulders.

"I'm dizzy…oh…somethings wrong." Chris gasped. He leaned on Matt, feeling unsteady on his feet. The whoosh in his ears was making his head pound, the horrible pressure in his belly turning into a jolts of pain. Chris cried out, a sob of agony, as Matt led him over to the bed.

"Your dizzy, it's a sign your blood pressures spiking up. Take this!" Matt almost shouted at Chris, his nerves quickly fraying. He grabbed a bottle of pills from the dresser and dumped two into Chris palm as tears streamed down his face.

"I need to go—go to the hospital, Matt please, I can't take it!" Chris wailed.

"I'm calling the do-doctor to see…to ask him--" Matt paced, pulling his hair into crazy wisps.

"No Matt oh, ooh fuck please get me out of here. I think—I think—somethings wrong." Chris braced himself as the pain rocketed through his body again. "I think they want out…where the fuck do they—aaaah—where the-the fuck do they think they're going!" Chris screamed.

"Calm down, you have to calm down!" Matt paced faster as the phone continued to ring. He knelt by Chris and stroked his thigh.

"Don't touch me!" Chris yelled, struggling to breathe. "You did this to me you goddamn idiot! And don't tell me to calm the fuck down--aah--oh--Matt!"

"Answer the fucking phone!" Matt yelled, just as the doctor picked up. "Oh God, thank you!"

Matt spoke to the doctor for merely a few seconds before hanging up and bolting over to Chris, his hands shaking so bad he could barely do anything with them.

"Okay, come on, we have to go. We have to go get you to the nearest hospital. Doc called ahead to explain your condition…he says your basically trying to have premature labor, for some reason they're trying to come now on their own. We have to get the babies out! He's going to leave Charlotte to try and get down here, but he's going to explain to the docs here in case he can't make it."

"Get 'em out, get 'em the fuck out please!" Chris cried, his blue eyes begging Matt through puddles of tears.

Matt managed to get Chris downstairs. The blond mumbled and sobbed incoherent things into Matt's ear, broken here and there by a shriek. The whole time Matt was assuring Chris—assuring both of them in a rapid stream of comforting words—that everything was going to be fine. Matt got Chris outside and to the car, into the seat, and ran around the car and dived in. He floored it out of the driveway, not even caring that he was wearing nothing but his boxer-briefs. Right now, Matt could have been fully nude and not have realized. All that was on his mind was Chris and their two babies, and the realization that they were ready to come out…_right now._


	6. Chapter 6

_**This is for TakersDarkLover…I FINISHED SOMETHING LOL! :) Here it is guys, the end to this story. Enjoy!**_

Everything was a bit of a blur for Matt. The dark scenery whooshed by as he sped through the night, pushing the speedometer in the Camaro for all it was worth. A few times he reached over, his hand clammy and shaking, to grab Chris' and squeeze it as the blond whimpered and groaned at the pain. The realization that Matt could lose everything—including Chris—kept pounding away at his mind until his head was reeling with a dull ache and his worries were creeping up his throat making him feel nauseous and terrified.

"It's going to be okay, I promise. We're almost there." Matt kept murmuring over and over again, some times more to himself than Chris.

Matt gave a couple of cautious glances over when Chris was quiet. His face was drenched with sweat, the color white as paper. His eyes were closed and he seemed like he was trying to focus on breathing and tune out the pain, but Matt didn't like it.

"Chris, Chris are you—are you okay?" Matt reached for his shoulder and shook it a little bit and was answered with a wail and a sob, tears rolled down Chris' cheeks.

Even though Matt was pushing as fast as he dared, it seemed like they were driving in slow motion, the glowing reflectors on the highway passing them by slowly, the scenery of dark, silhouetted trees never changing but just repeating again and again like the scenes in a low budget horror flick. The wheel was slick in Matt's hands and the longer the minutes ticked by the more he was shaking and fidgeting. Chris was quiet again, pressing his forehead to the window glass, once in a while grimacing or whimpering. Matt laid one hand on Chris' thigh, biting his lip when he felt Chris' muscles tense up and he cried out in pain. He moved his hand back and forth slowly, hoping that he was being some sort of comfort.

"My head is killing me…" Chris cried softly. With each throb of his head colorful dots exploded, and when the intense pressure and pain bit through his middle, the pounding in his head seemed to triple making him dizzy and nauseous. "Fuck…fuck—Matty please, are we there ye-yet!" Chris' plea ended up on a near scream and tears pricked at Matts' eyes. It did him in to see and hear his lover in such agony and he was angry at himself for somehow getting Chris into this situation, although the actual 'how' of the pregnancy was still pretty mysterious. It didn't matter, Matt had obviously contributed. All he could do was to keep rubbing Chris' thigh and talking to him in quiet tones, as though it was really helping either one of them cope any better.

When the sprawling hospital came into view Matt heaved a huge sigh and hoped that now things would go smoothly, or at least as smooth as a male pregnancy could go…whatever that meant.

He pulled up outside the entrance and there was already some women clad in scrubs waiting with a stretcher. Matt was keeping up with the fast pace and watching Chris' face closely as his blood pressure was monitored. One of the nurses shot a worried glance to another.

"He's in preeclampsia, blood pressure is through the roof. We need to do this now!"

Matt's head reeled at the urgency in her voice.

Someone pushed Matt into a prep room and he was separated from Chris. He started to struggle, not thinking, just wanting—needing—to be with Chris, terrified that the moment they were apart something horrible would happen.

"Put this on, we can't have you in there in nothing but your underwear."

A male nurse with short hair and a kind smile gave Matt some green scrubs, a band for his hair, and a face mask to put over his nose and mouth. Matt didn't even hear the comment about his underwear, and in his panic he didn't even realize that he wasn't dressed. There was too much bombarding his mind for him to comprehend t hat he was almost naked. He threw everything on quickly and rushed in behind the nurse.

The first thing he saw was Chris laying there with a mask strapped over his mouth and nose. His eyes were quickly drooping. Matt rushed over and grabbed Chris' hands, linking their fingers tight. He trailed his fingers through Chris' soaked hair.

"Hey baby, I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere." Matt said softly, weaving his fingers through Chris' blond hair. He turned to one of the nurses who was monitoring Chris' blood pressure. "Doesn't he need a…what's it called? Epi—epidural… you know for the pain?"

"It's not fast enough. We have to do this quickly, his bp is climbing this is an emergency situation. We're administering general anesthesia so we can work faster." The nurse called out two numbers, Chris' blood pressure, which sounded insanely high to Matt. He tried to tune out the numbers and just focus on Chris. His eyes were closed now, and he was breathing softly.

Matt glanced down, and saw a doctor bending over Chris and preparing the area for incision, low on Chris' belly where a womans' bikini line would be.

"This is medical history…" Someone muttered. Matt turned away as the scalpel started to bite through Chris' flesh.

"I'm here Chris, I'm right here…Matty's right here. I've got you babe." He brought Chris' hand up to his covered lips and kissed the back of it, it was shaking. Chris' hand was shaking…and then his limbs, his whole body started to tremor and jerk against the table.

"Fuck!" Someone shouted.

"He's seizing! He's in eclampsia!" A female voice rose up.

"What's going on! Make it stop!" Matt shouted, frantic. "Chris!" His voice broke, tears flooding his eyes and face.

"Sir calm down…" Someone said and placed there hands on Matt's arms. He kept on shouting, but his voice seemed miles and miles away, the room seemed to grow dim and fuzzy.

"Help him!" Matt shrieked, scrabbling at Chris' hand.

"Sir, the only solution to eclampsia is to deliver the fetuses. We're working as fast as possible."

People buzzed around Chris as his body convulsed.

"Make it stop! Help him, fuck God please help him!" Matt was hysterical, someone was pulling on his arm.

The room faded to blackness.

"Chris!" Matt jerked up, his hands gripping the edge of something, he realized as a chair. He blinked, seeing a nurse kneeling in front of him. She reached up and removed the plastic mask she'd slipped over his nose and mouth. She smiled.

"You're back Mr. Irvine-Hardy." She patted his knee and hung the oxygen mask over her arm.

"Huh? Where's Chris!" Matt jumped up out of his chair and almost darted off down the hallway.

"Sir! Sir, I can show you to his room, he's resting. You shouldn't move too quickly, you were out for a while." She added, touching his arm lightly and leading him.

"I passed out?" Matt mentally berated himself.

"It was…rather frantic." She said. "We get that a lot actually, I mean husbands and boyfriends falling like potato sacks. I wouldn't be too upset about it."

She led Matt towards a room and then she went to Chris' bedside to do some checks.

"He's in a postictal state right now, which is just a state of unconsciousness that occurs after severe seizure, from exhaustion. He should be awake anytime soon. He might be confused at first, and we'll have to keep monitoring him but he should be fine, since the delivery ended the state of eclampsia." She explained. "And congratulations, you are the father of a baby boy and girl. Since they're delivered pre-maturely we're keeping a close watch, but they seem to be healthy. You can come see them when you're ready." Matt nodded, tears rolling down his cheeks. He pulled a chair up to the side of the bed and took Chris' hand, watching his sleeping face intently, waiting for him to wake.

About an hour passed by before Chris' eyes opened to slits. Matt sat up straight in his chair, taking in a hiss of indrawn breath.

"Chris!"

Chris glanced over, blinking a few times to clear away some of the cobwebs. The face he saw was blurry, and his mind seemed to be working horribly slow, as if trying to wade through thick mud.

"He…was in my…room?" Chris half asked, confused, a sense of déjà vu and confusion overwhelming him.

"No baby, that was a long time ago. You're in the hospital because you were in labor, remember? Remember Chrissy? We have twins."

Chris looked at Matt blankly.

"Clownass…men dunnuthave babies." He slurred.

Matt smiled.

"Just never mind Chrissy. Just rest, just rest baby."

* * *

"They're so small." Chris gasped, his blue, jewel like eyes wide and glittering with amazement. His fingertips were pressed up to the big window, Matt was at his side, grinning from ear to ear. Their twins were in tiny little plastic enclosures, each wearing a white diaper which looked huge on their small bodies. One was sleeping, eyes closed, his itty bitty thumb pushed between his full lips, as he sucked at it. The other was awake, wide blue eyes scanning surroundings, faint dark hair lying in curls against her head.

"They're perfect." Matt grinned wider, if it was possible. He rubbed circles on Chris' back.

"I can't believe those came from us." Chris added, never taking his teary eyes away from the two tiny babies. Matt moved behind Chris and wrapped him in his arms, resting his chin on Chris' shoulder.

"I love you so much." Matt whispered, and kissed Chris' jaw.

"I love you too, Daddy." Chris added, to which Matt chuckled.

* * *

Chris stood over the sink, watching through the drawn curtain. In the back yard was a huge tree, to which Matt had fixed a tire swing. One twin was hung through the middle of the 'o' flailing his arms around, the other was sitting on top gripping the rope and kicking her legs as Matt pushed them, the tire swinging forward and turning lazily on the rope as the sun began to sink, painting the sky in deep, soothing pinks. Fireflies began to hover up from the tall grass, blinking their lights softly. It was summer in Cameron, the kids enjoying their months out of school, their arms and shoulders turning brown, the freckles across his daughter nose standing out, the sun fading his sons' blond hair even lighter and streaking his daughters' dark hair with warm highlights.

He smiled as Matt stopped the swing, and shooed the kids off. The girl ran towards the house, but the boy started to stomp his feet and poke his lip out in protesting whine. Matt turned him around and patted his rear, sending him off towards the house.

"Daddy!"

Chris' and Matt's daughter ran in, her dirty, bare feet thumping across the kitchen floor. Chris' knelt down to greet her and she jumped into his arms, her chocolate curls springing off her shoulders in twin piggytails.

She pulled back from Chris' embrace and looked up into his face, smiling a big smile, showing off the gaps where her front teeth used to be. One her brother knocked out with a too accurate Code Breaker. The other, Chris had pulled after she cried about it, then didn't even notice when he tugged it free.

She pressed a kiss to Chris' cheek with her pretty, full lips that were just like Matts'. Chris tugged on one of her ears, which she also took from Matt, and she shrieked, her huge, cobalt eyes dancing with delight.

"Daddy!"

"What?"Chris swept her off her feet and spun her around as she giggled.

Her brother came in shortly after, prodded by Matt. His arms were crossed over his chest and the scowl on his face was completely Jericho in nature, maybe even more severe than anything Chris had ever mustered up for the ring. Chris fought not to laugh, as the boys lips worked angrily. It didn't have any effect on Matt, who just reached up and ruffled his hair.

"Quit with the sour face, we always have tomorrow." Matt said, as the boy swatted at his hands.

"I don't care, I didn't wanna come inside!" He whined.

Chris let go of his daughter, who skipped over to Matt and wrapped around his legs. He knelt in front of his son.

"You know we don't allow frowny faces in this house." Chris said seriously.

The defiant little boy only poked his lip out further.

"You know, your face is going to stick like that." Chris warned.

"Ew, I don't wanna be ugly like you!" The little blond spat.

Chris rolled his eyes.

"Then you'll have to start smiling…" Chris grabbed the boys sides and tickled him until his was shrieking and giggling. The little girl hopped onto Chris' shoulders and wrapped one arm around his neck, holding on, the other hand tugging at Chris' hair. The shrill laughter of the children rang out through the kitchen, and Matt stood back watching, leaning on the counter.

"Come on Matty, help me with these two! I didn't ask to be in a handicap match!" Chris joked, as he flopped onto his back and let the kids "pin" him.

"Don't worry, I've got you babe." Matt said. He stood over Chris and the twins, and scooped one under each arm. Both of them giggled and hollered to be let down. Chris followed behind Matt as they went upstairs and first put the girl to bed, then the boy. They made their way back down to the end of the hallway to their room, Matts' arm hung around Chris' shoulders and Chris' at the small of Matts' back. Chris yawned widely, and Matt laughed.

They both stripped down and crawled in to bed, sharing a long, lingering, kiss, and a few touches before sleep. Chris rolled over and smirked, already hearing Matt snoring softly. He reached over and titled a picture that was framed on the nightstand. It was a picture of the four of them, the boy was in full tears, the look on Chris' face distressed, Matt was in the middle of a blink, and their daughter was sneezing. Jeff had taken that picture, and he'd almost deleted it, but Chris had asked him to keep it. Somehow, despite the mess of it all…it just seemed perfect. Chris closed his eyes and drifted to sleep, his lips curved into a smile.

_**End**_

Hope you all enjoyed this  I had fun writing it!

Thanks so much for reading and reviewing! You all are great, I mean it!


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